


Caramel Lattes, Little Blue Birds and Love Stories

by GhostofBambi



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Social Media, Twitter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:08:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27311653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostofBambi/pseuds/GhostofBambi
Summary: James Potter's monster crush on the beautiful new barista at his favourite coffee haunt is splashed all over social media. What is a boy to do?
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter
Comments: 86
Kudos: 419





	1. September

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE?
> 
> This fic was inspired by cgner's Collaboration Squared, in which Lily was writing a fake dating coffeeshop AU and I was like, "Oh HEY!" It features an ode to that bastion of comedy greatness that is Scottish Twitter, which I realise will be polarising for some people so I am including a link to a general Scots slang translator [here](http://www.scotranslate.com/). Please see the note at the end of this chapter for more specific translations of each tweet.
> 
> As always, this fic exists in a world without Covid because I AM NOT here for it, guys. Not here for it.

**Twitter User: Caribbeanz Coffee London** **  
** **@CaribbeanzLDN** **  
** _Freshly roasted organic and flavoured coffee, straight from the sunny shores of Jamaica. Tweets by Mary. Share the love!_

**176** Following **27.4K** Followers

 **@CaribbeanzLDN** **  
** Brightening up this gloomy September is our brand new barista, Lily! Because who doesn't love a hint of ginger with their morning coffee? ;D Wishing her a warm welcome from all of us at Caribbeanz!

_[Picture Attachment]_

_9:05 AM · Sep 20, 2020 · Twitter for iPhone_

*****

**Twitter User: Café au Hate** **  
** **@cafe_au_hate** **  
** _anonymous twenty-somethin barista hates her fucken job_

**0** Following **62K** Followers

 **@cafe_au_hate** **  
** new lass looks like a fucken disney princess, stunnin altogether, cannae even hate her cos she's a darling, a'll no be surprised if a come in tae see chipmunks cleanin the fucken counters

_11:19 AM · Sep 20, 2020 · Twitter for iPhone_

*****

He wasn't at his best on the day he first met her.

James had an excuse for his behaviour, however—extreme sleep deprivation.

Also, his mother wouldn't give him the day off work, though admitting that might have depleted his street cred a little.

Not that he had much street cred to begin with.

It was Wednesday, it was gloomily overcast, and James had just powered through a hectic lunch shift where everything imaginable had gone catastrophically wrong. They'd been down a chef and a waiter on account of glandular fever, which they'd caught from one another. A late delivery van was the culprit behind an unexpected shortage of turbot—their most popular dish. A patron had stoked Claire's thigh as she was pouring him a glass of wine and had to be forcibly removed from the restaurant, upsetting another diner's table in the process. And all of that would have been bearable, only James had been kept up all night by a neighbour's car alarm—one of the especially callous kinds that alternated between vociferous wails and honks—but he "lived in a nice area," so his mum hadn't bought that excuse when he asked to go home.

"You were up all night playing shooting games with Peter on your XBox, weren't you?" Euphemia had accused, brandishing her paring knife as if she intended to cut off his balls with it. "Don't think that you can fool _me."_

It was an entirely unfair accusation for many reasons, primarily that James hated first-person shooters and had never owned an XBox in his life. He was a Playstation 4 enthusiast. His mother had mistaken him for Sirius. Her treachery burned him like bleach in an eyeball, but then, James reasoned, what else was to be expected of a woman who'd once forced him to budge a few inches to the right so that her Roomba could take centre stage in a family photo?

His colleagues could never have appreciated how he suffered. They'd all slept the night before (probably) and none of them worked for their mothers.

Granted, Claire was having it worse for obvious reasons, but James was second in the running.

By the time the last plates had been cleared and the kitchen properly cleaned, James was groggy, grumpy, and his eyes felt as if he'd been crying for hours on end. With only a twenty minute reprieve until dinner prep began, he bolted from the restaurant and headed for the coffee shop down the road, which was a brightly-lit, colourful haven on the otherwise posh-fronted street.

He slouched through the entrance with only a piping hot coffee in mind.

"A large caramel latte with three extra shots of espresso," he yawned at the barista who was taking orders, his card at the ready and his eyes fixed blearily on the dwindling collection of pastries in the glass-fronted display case. His voice was barely audible over the soothing tones of Jimmy Cliff that came from the wall speakers. Caribbeanz played nothing but reggae all day. "Please."

The barista rang it up on the register and charged him £4.70, James tapped his card against the contactless reader, then she picked up a chunky black Sharpie and briskly bopped the lid of a paper cup.

"What's your name?" she asked him.

He idly considered adding a cinnamon roll to his order, but decided against it. "James."

She lifted the cup to her chest. "J-a-m-e-s, right?"

Being asked to clarify the spelling of a perfectly common name—albeit one that he believed he wore better than anyone else who shared it—was so weird that James snapped his gaze away from the display to give her his full attention, and found himself staring into a pair of the prettiest, most vividly emerald green eyes he'd ever seen.

His stomach bottomed out and hit the floor.

She was stunning.

 _No,_ his lethargy-addled mind scrambled to clarify, she was more than stunning. She was miles ahead of stunning. She was beyond any descriptors that James could possibly have thought of in that moment, because the world was bursting with beautiful women and he passed them in the street without much thought on a daily basis, but this one had just reached out and punched him right in the face.

Suddenly, the fact that he had failed to give her his full attention from the moment he walked into the coffee shop seemed exponentially more ludicrous than anything she might have suggested.

"Um," he said, a little bit astounded. "Yeah?"

"It's obvious, I know," she explained as she wrote, "but I never like to assume that I know how to spell somebody's name."

His brain screamed at him to say something. "Yeah."

 _Something INTERESTING,_ it hollered louder.

"Sure, I might think I know, but what if I'm wrong and cause offence?" she continued. "Like, what if there's a secret y in there that I never saw coming?"

"A hidden f would be worse," he suggested.

 _Words._ Finally.

She laughed through her nose and drew the Sharpie back with a flourish, examining the cup with narrowed eyes. Her skin was pale and dusted with freckles, and her lovely face was framed by stray wisps of dark red hair that she'd gathered into a knot at the back of her head. "All hail Ja-fuh-mes, King of Assumptions."

"Maybe _he_ needs the extra letter," said James, with only an indistinct, embarrassed idea of what he was doing. The building seemed to be shrinking into darkness all around her while she glowed like an iridescent firefly. His face was growing warmer. "But I don't."

"You can sell yourself on personality alone, can you?"

"Um. Something like that."

"You must cost a fortune."

"King Ja-whatsit couldn't afford me."

"He bought one too many consonants, the royal coffers have been bled dry," she said, and shot him a sly smile before she placed his cup on top of his receipt and slid it along the counter. "Your drink will be ready in a minute, if you want to wait at the end."

Bewildered, James thanked her and moved along the queue.

She appeared to forget all about him as soon as her next customer stepped up, but he couldn't help but glance back at her every few seconds, slack-jawed and stunned. She worked her way through her customers at top speed, repeating orders aloud and scribbling names on cups with (presumably) pristine spelling. She was quick and deft and she smiled, brightly and often, but she did not pause to chat at length with anyone.

Not like she had with him.

Not that James had said anything much. She'd mostly been riffing with herself.

Was she real, he wondered?

No, but seriously, _was_ she real? Had he imagined her? Was he really so exhausted that he'd fabricated a whole human being, an out-of-this-world beautiful woman? Was he living in a waking dream? He'd been up thirty-four hours and counting, so hallucinations weren't out of the question.

"Is she real?" he murmured to the barista who called his name and handed him his coffee, a brunette with a smattering of darker freckles and a name tag obscured by a long, thick braid.

She thrust the cup towards him with a belligerent smile. "Hard to believe."

He _couldn't_ have made her up, James decided, with his latte pressed into his hand and the comforting aroma of caramel wafting temptingly under his nose. He'd gotten his coffee, hadn't he? He couldn't have ordered his drink from thin air. With this steadying notion in mind, he half-staggered to the door and the dreary afternoon outside, but kept his eyes on the redheaded barista the whole way there. She didn't venture from her station, nor did she vanish into nothingness when he pushed through the door with a clatter of beads, straining to catch one last glimpse of her over his shoulder.

James just needed sleep, that was all. Eight solid hours of unimpeded rest would see him right as rain. Or more coffee, even. That was why he'd gone there in the first place, for coffee, not to ponder the existence of strangers. Sleep-deprivation was the only issue here. That must have been the reason why he'd found himself so overwhelmed.

He was halfway to the restaurant when he realised that he'd made a total arsehole of himself.

*****

**@cafe_au_hate** **  
** Four eyes junkie type comes in ooglin disney princess n says tae me "is she real?" wit the fuck dae ye think she is like? a fucken hologram?

_4:27 PM · Sep 23, 2020 · Twitter for iPhone_

**@cafe_au_hate** **  
** Stop askin for pics ae disney princess colleague, a'm no violatin her privacy ye shower ae fucks.

_8:39 PM · Sep 23, 2020 · Twitter for iPhone_

*****

James spent the rest of his shift replaying the encounter with the barista in his head and hating himself more every time he did.

He also devoted a significant amount of time hatching vague plots to take the dry ice maker into the walk-in chiller and lock himself in, so that he might cryogenically freeze himself until the humiliation passed. This was a plan that seemed flawless— though not scientifically sound—until he walked into the chiller to grab some spinach and remembered that he hated being cold. Eventually, his mother got sick of what she dubbed his "shifty-eyed mooning" and sent him packing with an hour to spare so that he could get an early night.

Sirius wasn't at home when he returned to the flat, which might have been because James had sent him eight or nine texts lamenting his behaviour at the coffee shop and announcing his intent to freeze himself like a handsomer Austin Powers. It might have also been because he had prior plans. James wound up unburdening his fraught emotions on the cat, but Algernon, per usual, didn't give a shit about his feelings.

"You could at least _pretend_ to give a hoot about my problems," he pointed out, scowling, only for Algernon to hit him in the face with his tail and knock his glasses askew. "Or...whatever the cat's equivalent of giving a hoot is. Giving a meow?"

Algernon darted away like escape couldn't come quickly enough, so James crashed into bed with his trousers still on, but not before sending his mother a picture of his Playstation 4 and pointedly shutting off his phone.

His last, comforting thought before he fell asleep was that owls would make excellent therapists.

When he woke up the next morning, fresh off a nightmare in which his brain was being pecked out by the owl from _Bambi,_ he hopped into the shower and started to take proper stock of his crimes. As he lathered up with liberal amounts of Sirius's expensive body wash to punish him for not being available when needed, James felt certain that he'd been rude to the barista in the beginning, might not have said "please" when he made his order, and responded like a stunned goldfish to all of the amusing things she said.

The creepy staring might have been the least of his problems.

The solution, of course, was to return to the coffee shop and be unerringly charming until she forgot that he'd ever been a headcase.

She probably wouldn't remember him anyway, James reasoned. She probably sent people to pieces all the time, just by smiling at them. Likely she was used to it. Likely he was angsting over nothing. In the bright light of morning, with squeaky clean hair and his breakfast in his belly, a second first impression felt like a perfectly achievable goal.

As he told Algernon before he left the flat, prompting a disbelieving hiss, it wasn't even that big of a deal.

He'd slept in late and had to get to work, but he pelted to the coffee shop first and told himself that he was only rushing in his eagerness for an invigorating jolt of freshly-ground caffeine to his system. It was a perfectly fine excuse. Caribbeanz was the undisputed king of coffee in that neck of the woods—it had driven out a Starbucks, after all. That was what he told himself when he strode through the door that morning, checking his reflection in the window to ensure that his hair was at its optimal level of ruffled.

But she wasn't there.

There wasn't a trace of her to be found.

It was a tragedy that he stupidly hadn't expected, one confirmed by a long, lingering sweep of the wicker tables, banana yellow brick walls and numerous, haphazardly arranged photographs of palm trees and hammocks in tropical locales—even the ceiling of criss-crossing fairy lights—while he stood in the open doorway and tried his best to process this unforeseen obstacle. She was not in her spot behind the counter, smiling with her chunky Sharpie in hand. She was not wiping down a table or carrying a tray to a gaggle of gawking, infatuated swains (they would, of course, be gawking and infatuated). She was absolutely nowhere to be seen.

Maybe he _had_ imagined her, after all.

"You're letting in the cold," said somebody, a woman with a Scottish accent.

James pulled the reins on his dismay for long enough to realise that the barista who'd served him his coffee yesterday was standing by the espresso machine and watching him expectantly.

"Sorry!" he called out, and shuffled to deliver his order to Kingsley, a muscular Marvel superhero type who James knew pretty well, but resented in that moment for not being a twinkly-eyed, redheaded woman who may or may not have existed. A handful of minutes later, he had moved to the other end of the counter and was waiting for the Scottish barista to finish up with his latte.

"You seem a bit more alert today," she remarked, while she was filling up his cup.

James had been straining to see through the porthole in the double doors that led to the back of the shop—just in case _his_ barista was in there, being luminescent and beautiful, or hiding from the scruffy-haired, formerly sleep-starved weirdo with the glasses who had made her uncomfortable by gawking at her like a loon—and he jumped at the sound of her voice.

"Sorry?" he said, and tried to look like he wasn't totally demented.

"You seemed out of it, last time you were here," she explained, eyeing him curiously. Her name tag read _MARY._ "I had to call your name four or five times before you'd answer, then you asked me if one of my colleagues was real."

At the exact spot in James's body where his stomach met his pyloric sphincter, two snakes spontaneously burst into being and commenced a dance of writhing, excruciating shame.

He'd somehow forgotten about that.

There wasn't a chance in hell that Mary the Scottish barista hadn't recounted that bit of madness to all of her colleagues at the moment he walked out the door.

"Oh," he said, dying.

"Do you remember doing that?"

He let out an anxious, blustery laugh. "Right, yeah."

Mary raised a sharply pencilled eyebrow.

"Sorry about that, by the way," he hastily tacked on, his hand jumping into his hair to find some purchase in this humiliating situation. She was looking at him as if she'd personally borne witness to every private wanking session he'd ever had and was, quite frankly, disgusted by what had transpired. "I'd not slept in well over thirty hours, so I was half-asleep the whole time I was here."

Her expression of unveiled disdain did not waver.

It was clear that she didn't believe him. She probably thought that he was on drugs. She could probably tell that James had mistaken her colleague for a _Star Trek_ hologram. She would probably call the police if he ever dared return to the coffee shop again. That was just his kind of luck. This was the reason why a three-year-old Roomba named Diablo II (the first Diablo had been given a small funeral in Euphemia's living room) had taken his place in his mother's affections.

"Fair enough," she conceded, and shoved the blue and yellow cup across the counter with a smile that seemed to strain her face. "Enjoy the rest of your day."

*****

**@CaribbeanzLDN** **  
** New in town! Our tropical blend granola, high in fibre and designed to enjoy with a coffee. Your mornings just got brighter!

_11:17 AM · Sep 24, 2020 · Twitter for iPhone_

*****

**@cafe_au_hate** **  
** Four eyes git came back, wis lurkin around lookin for disney princess but she's oot today, face like a slapped arse when she didnae turn up. Fucken scenes.

_11:19 AM · Sep 24, 2020 · Twitter for iPhone_

**@evanboi212353 — replying to @cafe_au_hate** **  
** What's the story with disney princess are ye mates and does she like big cock?

_11:45 AM · Sep 24, 2020 · Twitter for Android_

**@cafe_au_hate — replying to @evanboi212353** **  
** A'd murder yer whole fucken family for her an no think twice.

_11:48 AM · Sep 24, 2020 · Twitter for iPhone_

*****

Things got worse on Saturday morning, because this time she _was_ there when James walked in—sitting at one of the tables with her nose in a book and a mug of something hot by her arm, with her brown hemp apron slung over the back of the chair to her right—at which point he'd turned and promptly walked back out, planning to succumb to his cardiac arrest on the pavement outside, where he belonged.

He'd have managed to pull it off, too, if his mother hadn't taken it into her head that she wanted a danish and witnessed the whole bloody debacle.

It had been all James could do to talk Euphemia out of dragging him back inside and introducing them on the spot. As it was, he had to agree to a family dinner that night _and_ RSVP on the spot to one of the charity events that his parents were always throwing before she agreed to leave the scene of his crime and buy her danish in Waitrose.

Still, it was almost worth being caught by his mother in a state of emotional undress, for as he was hauling her away by the crook of her arm, she'd happened to point out the sign in the coffee shop's window that advertised their Twitter account.

And _oh,_ that proved a treasure trove for the ages.

Just eleven tweets down, James came across a photo of his beloved on her first day on the job. She looked peppy and fresh in her new apron, her long red hair left loose and flowing past her shoulders, proving once and for all that not only did she exist, but she was just as jaw-droppingly gorgeous as he'd remembered her from Wednesday night, and that her name was Lily.

Lily.

James found himself unsurprised by this revelation. She hardly would have qualified as a Karen or a Mildred or, god forbid, a Helena. Lily was classic and beautiful. It fit her as snugly as a glove.

Thank goodness for social media, which was otherwise a constant scourge. For once it had done him a favour.

"She looks like a Lily," he remarked aloud that evening.

From the opposite side of the table, Sirius let out an aggressively loud groan that sounded exactly like Chewbacca, if Chewbacca had ever been shot in the arse with a harpoon. It was so pronounced that it made Euphemia's candles flicker.

James ripped his eyes away from the photo and glared at his adopted brother. "Stop."

"I'll stop when you stop acting like a prick," Sirius countered. "She looks like a woman."

"I meant she looks like a woman _named_ Lily."

"As opposed to what? A tractor?"

"Stop sniping at one another and let _me_ take a look," scolded Euphemia, who had just come in from the kitchen holding a corkscrew, which she dropped on the table in her haste to get at her son. James's phone was unceremoniously snatched from his hands, and his mother held it up to her face, examining the photo with narrowed eyes. "Hmm."

 _"Hmm_ what?" said James in alarm. He shared his mother's habit of forming instant likes and dislikes for the weirdest of reasons, but maintained that it was only acceptable when _he_ did it, especially where the girls he liked and dated were concerned.

Euphemia ignored James and turned to her husband, holding the phone out for him to inspect.

"Darling," she said urgently. "Darling, look at this picture."

Fleamont dropped his half-clean skewer on his plate, dabbed his fingers on a napkin and pushed his glasses up his nose to examine the photo.

"Oh," he said. "I see."

"You do?"

"I do."

"This is _exactly—"_

"Yes, you're right, exactly."

"You'll have to speak to Marketing as soon as possible. First thing Monday morning—"

"I'll set up a meeting with Jeanne—"

 _"Excuse_ me?" James piped up, prompting his mother to whirl around and (probably) recall that he existed. "Are either of you going to tell me what you're on about?"

"Oh, the Grow & Glow range, darling," said Euphemia happily.

"This is exactly what we need for the campaign," Fleamont seconded.

Sirius immediately started laughing into his souvlaki, while James gaped at both of his parents, appalled by their mercenary schemes. For all he knew, he might have been destined to marry this woman (he definitely wasn't), but his parents wanted to use her to flog their shampoo. "What—"

"This is what we _asked_ the agency for," his mum interrupted, "but they sent those blue and green-haired girls instead—perfectly gorgeous, of course, we'd have booked them for the Electrify range in a heartbeat, but we wanted natural colours. _She_ takes good care of her hair, you can tell." Euphemia showed James the photo, as if he hadn't already spent half of the day committing every detail to memory. "It's got that lovely sheen to it. Do you know if she's done any modelling?"

"How would _I_ know that?"

"I thought you said you'd talked to her?"

"I didn't _talk_ to her!" he yelped. "I grunted like a caveman and left, which never would have happened if you'd listened to my story about the car alarm and let me take the day off work!"

"Oh." Euphemia's smile dropped. "So it's my fault, is it?"

"If I'd been a bit more _alert—"_

"Oh yes," his mother sighed, and limply held his phone out for him to take. "If only you'd been more alert like you were this morning, when you suavely ran away."

"Suavely running away is his trademark," Sirius offered.

"Shut up," James snapped, dropping his phone on the table as his mother took her seat and—right on cue—Diablo II came whizzing into the dining room, its little wheels squeaking on the hardwood, no doubt to perform its usual shtick of picking up dirt and usurping James from his position in the family.

"There's my special little boy," Euphemia cooed lovingly at the devious little shit. Then she fixed James with a hard look. "Make sure you talk to her about the campaign when you next see her."

"I'm not—"

"We'd like to get the first proofs shot in the next few weeks, ideally. We're running on a very tight schedule."

Incensed, James snatched up a skewer from his plate and bit an impassioned chunk out of his chicken.

It didn't matter if he ever saw Lily again, didn't matter if he spoke to her, didn't even matter if he managed to convince her that he wasn't a dithering denizen of the walking dead.

His mum was sure to find a way to make the whole thing worse.

*****

**@cafe_au_hate** **  
** Mindin ma own business when four eyes git comes strollin in, sees disney princess n runs away like hes shittin his breeks, cannae make it up like

_9:37 AM · Sep 26, 2020 · Twitter for iPhone_

**@dontfuckwith_dawlish — replying to @cafe_au_hate** **  
** I think you are making it up.

_10:05 AM · Sep 26, 2020 · Twitter for iPhone_

**@cafe_au_hate — replying to @dontfuckwith_dawlish** **  
** A think ye bought a wee dolly from the internet n fucked it til she burst

_10:07 AM · Sep 26, 2020 · Twitter for iPhone_

*****

James next turned up at Caribbeanz on Monday morning, and in his defence, he was ravenous for a caramel latte after an afternoon spent sweating over herring roe and olives.

Sadly, he was also sweating over the prospect of finding Lily there again, and had almost stayed away as a result. It had taken hours of mental preparation and a pep-talk from his mirror before he could work up the stomach to go back there, reminding himself that she saw hundreds of customers each day and wouldn't remember him. His was just another face in her crowd, and though James usually hated the idea of blending in, he was fully prepared to be the most nondescript face that any crowd had ever seen if it meant avoiding embarrassment.

It was with this mantra playing over in his head that he walked in to face the music. The coffee shop was quiet at that time, with a small number of customers scattered at various glass-panelled tables, and nobody else but Lily was behind the counter.

"If it isn't our benevolent king!" she called out at once, and waved right at him.

James's heart skipped a literal beat.

She...she remembered him.

Specifically.

He felt half-crazed for a moment, arrested by a feeling that was equal parts horror and delight. She _remembered_ him. She remembered him and _now he couldn't turn and run away_ and he was terrified.

And to think, his mother expected him to ask her if she wanted to get into modelling, when there were no words in the English language with which he could pose that question without coming off like a creep who wanted to trick her into making porn.

Euphemia could crow at him all she wanted, but she was nuts if she thought he was doing _that._

"I, erm..." he replied, aware of the taramasalata stain on his chef's whites and half-inclined to make a full-pelt run for it anyway. Why hadn't he changed before he left the restaurant? His mother had shoved him out the door. He was going to murder that Roomba. "A latte can occasionally tempt me to come down from my tower."

"And here I thought you only convened with the peasants so you could remind us all to never make assumptions."

"I assumed that you weren't in desperate need of that advice."

"And I assume that you're in desperate need of coffee," she said, smiling, and beckoned him over with the rag that she'd been using to clean the nozzles on the espresso machine, "so come on in and we'll see what we can do."

James may have been bamboozled and slightly concerned for his heart, but he had, at least, presence of mind enough to follow her instructions. He was grateful that the scowling Scottish one wasn't there. Their limited interactions had him convinced that she hated his guts enough to launch a plan of sabotage if she caught him in the coffee shop again.

"Making the drinks now, are you?" he remarked, approaching the counter with caution.

"Oh, yes," said Lily proudly, chin up. "I'm moving very far up in the world."

"I'm glad I put in a good word with the royal coffee enforcers, in that case."

"Nice to see that they can work so fast when you give them a task to accomplish."

"Why'd you think I keep them so well-caffeinated?"

"Drugging your employees, tsk tsk." She punctuated her playful disapproval with a shake of her head. "You see, _this_ is my problem with monarchies nowadays, they take no accountability for the ever-growing increase in arabica bean dependency."

The rate of his pulse went skyrocketing up alongside his happiness, because this was different to what he'd expected—much easier than he'd expected, whilst simultaneously scary—and James couldn't help but grin widely.

"That," he agreed, "and the traditional, rampant inbreeding."

"Praise be to Meghan Markle, sent here to rescue us all," came her dry rejoinder, and she stuffed her dampened dishrag into the front pocket of her apron. "And speaking of welcome drop-ins, I have two _very_ important questions to ask you at this juncture."

"Yes," said James at once, on the off-chance that one of those questions was an immediate proposal of marriage.

Welcome drop-ins. _Welcome._

"One," she said, with an accompanying lift of her finger. "I'm gonna need to know your order—"

"Oh."

"And two," she continued, pointing to the stain on his shirt, "are you a chef, or an inept professional food-fighter?"

"That's, ah—that's a fascinating story, actually."

"Please, do tell. I'm all ears."

"Alright, but it's highly classified information, so you'll have to swear to me that you'll keep it to yourself."

"I swear on the almighty Meghan, have at it," she promised, and leaned across the counter to further their secret-sharing ruse, her arms crossed and resting on the surface. James mirrored her stance, facing her directly, and did his best to look as serious as possible despite the fact that he was literally quaking in his boots at the eye contact they were maintaining, although he didn't wear boots so it would have been more accurate to say that he was quaking in his trainers.

"I'm a chef," he admitted, in the low, urgent tone of an undercover agent.

"And?"

"And that's it."

"That's it?"

"What do you want from me, a novella?"

She didn't move or speak for a moment, her eyes locked on his without blinking, then a sudden shudder of a laugh ripped through her shoulders and sent her springing to her feet, her lips pressed together to keep it from escaping.

"Get out," she said, as James straightened up, and thrust a finger in the direction of the door. She was visibly shaking with suppressed laughter. "Coming in here like, and how _dare_ —get out of here right this instant!"

"What?" James was laughing too, and doing a much worse job of concealing it. "Without my caramel latte?"

"You can get your caramel latte, then leave," she graciously instructed. "But come back tomorrow, I want to hear more about your plans to tackle the unfair distribution of ground roast."

"As the lady wishes," said James, and she beamed at him.

There was no saving him from her, after that.

*****

**@cafe_au_hate** **  
** Come in for me shift n disney princess blatherin aff about some smart funny lad n its only fucken four eyes, dinnae mind me am aff tae the loo tae smack me head aff the lavvy.

_9:08 AM · Sep 29, 2020 · Twitter for iPhone_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A link to my very specific translations of Mary's tweets (aka what SHE is directly or indirectly saying) can be found [here](https://ghostofbambifanfiction.tumblr.com/marytweets) on my Tumblr.


	2. October

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this was late. I've been ill and did not turn my laptop on for a week.
> 
> Mild TW for mentions of childbirth.

**@cafe_au_hate  
**poll: wit'll four eyes git dae when he comes in today?

A: propose tae disney princess wi' plastic ring from 5p machine  
B: same shite he aye does, gawk like the wee twat he is  
C: an aul cheeky wank  
D: he wilnae come in which means he's ded

  * _propose_


  * _gawk_


  * _wank_


  * _wilnae come in_



_9:30 AM · Oct 02, 2020 · Twitter for iPhone_

*****

**@CaribbeanzLDN** **  
** It's Friday, friends!! Why not celebrate the weekend with one of our sweet & tasty blended smoothies (and we think Lily and Kingsley are pretty sweet too ;D) Available in wild berry, mango + strawberry, coco colada and banana blast!

_[Picture Attachment]_

_9:35 AM · Oct 02, 2020 · Twitter for iPhone_

*****

**Twitter User: Sleekeazy Official** **  
** **@SleekeazyGlobal**  
_The official Twitter page for Sleekeazy Worldwide. Sleekeazy is committed to supporting cruelty-free, naturally-sourced hair and beauty solutions._

 **1,485** Following **132K** Followers

 **@SleekeazyGlobal — replying to @CaribbeanzLDN**  
Is the redhead single? Asking for a friend.

_9:49 AM · Oct 02, 2020 · Sprinklr_

**@CaribbeanzLDN — replying to @SleekeazyGlobal** **  
** She is, but she doesn't date faceless corporations. Soz.

_9:52 AM · Oct 02, 2020 · Twitter for iPhone_

*****

**WhatsApp Group Chat: The Family**

**Resumed on: Friday 2nd October 2020, 9:55 a.m.**

**Members: Sirius Black, Euphemia Potter, Fleamont Potter, James Potter**

**================================**

**Euphemia Potter:** Delete that right now.

 **James Potter:** delete what?

 **Sirius Black:** LOL

 **Euphemia Potter:** Don't butt in on conversations that don't concern you, James, I was speaking to my other ungrateful child.

 **Sirius Black:** Your favourite child, you mean.

 **Euphemia Potter:** Do you want the legacy your father built with his bare hands to be ground to dust?

 **Sirius Black:** Depends.  
Which father?

 **James Potter:** it's a… group chat?  
and you… didn't specify who you were talking to?

 **Euphemia Potter:** Do you want Sleekeazy to be the first company to have their Twitter account sued for sexual harassment?  
Of all the historical precedents I have planned for my family to set, that is not one of them.

 **Sirius Black:** I deleted it.

 **Euphemia Potter:** Thank you.

 **James Potter:** deleted WHAT?

 **Euphemia Potter:** It's better if you don't know, sweetheart.

 **Sirius Black:** Lily is single, btw.

 **James Potter:** WHAT DID YOU DO???

*****

**@cafe_au_hate** **  
** poll: wit'll four eyes git dae when he comes in today? 

  * _propose : 24%_


  * _gawk : 43%_


  * _wank : 27%_


  * _wilnae come in : 6%_



_12,473 votes · Final Results_

_8:30 PM · Oct 02, 2020 · Twitter for iPhone_

**@cafe_au_hate** **  
** it was b. borin prick.

_8:34 PM · Oct 02, 2020 · Twitter for iPhone_

*****

"Do you really need the three extra shots?" she asked him a week later.

It was Friday afternoon and James had walked in during a lull, which felt almost as miraculous as Ladybug and Chat Noir. The coffee shop was usually heaving with customers, so he hardly ever got to exchange more than a couple of sentences with Lily before she rushed to the next one and sent him on his way with his drink. She'd seemed a bit withdrawn when he arrived, though, so he'd been rocking on his heels and trying to think of something fittingly charming to say when she surprised him with that question.

It seemed he'd been worried for nothing.

"What d'you mean?" he stupidly replied.

Lily wordlessly held out the paper cup for him to examine. She hadn't added the milk yet, but the bottom was more than well filled.

"The extra espresso," she said, once he'd taken a look. "Do you really need it?"

There was an urbane, witty answer to that question somewhere, but James had not a single clue where to find it. "It's just how I've always had it."

"So you started your coffee-drinking life with three extra shots of espresso?" she asked, her eyebrows raised. "No build-up? Just straight in at three, hardcore-style?"

"It seemed like the grown-up choice at the time."

She laughed. "When was 'the time,' exactly?"

"Aren't you supposed to be encouraging the extra espresso?" he asked her, rather than admit that his espresso shot habit was the result of trying to look sophisticated when he was sixteen. "More money in the register?"

"I'm just worried about your heart, is all."

"I'll have you know that I've got the heart of a lion," he retorted, pressing a hand to his chest like a football player preparing to mouth the words to "God Save the Queen" at a World Cup match.

"Oh, do you?"

"Physiologically and figuratively. It was a two-for-one deal."

"A medical miracle, you are."

"It's true. I'm mentioned in several academic journals," he loftily finished. "But don't fact check that."

That made Lily laugh again while she poured the hot milk into his cup. The metal jug shook slightly in her hand, but she didn't spill a drop. "It's just that you already seem to have a lot of energy churning around in there, you know?"

"I'm pretty sure I was half-dead from sleep deprivation, the first time we met," he reminded her.

"Oh, that doesn't count. You come bouncing through the door like a rabbit most days, then you neck a latte loaded with caffeine and I can't help but wonder where it's all..." She straightened up with his coffee in one hand and made a sweeping gesture with the other. "You know. _Going."_

She was so quick and so clever and so gorgeous, with her red hair piled up in a feathery bundle on top of her head and her Sharpie stuck in there for safekeeping. James knew exactly where, and how, and how many times he'd like to redirect his extra energy.

He also fervently hated himself for letting the thought pop into his brain while he was trying to have a civilised conversation and not send her scurrying into the back room to complain to Kingsley and have him thrown out on his arse.

"I have a lot of double lives, if that helps?" he offered, rather than take the route of outrageous sexual harassment.

She adjusted to the topic change without missing a beat. "Masked vigilantism or secret family?"

"One of those is definitely preferable, right?"

"Oh, masked vigilantism for sure."

"Tell that to my seven devoted wives."

She pressed the lid down on his coffee cup and slid it across the counter, her lips quirked in a slight smirk. "One for each day of the week?"

"Or," James continued, "I work in a kitchen and play a lot of sports and occasionally need to physically fight my flatmate for dominance over the remote?"

"That's a lot, actually."

"You know me—or you don't, but I suppose I'm telling you now—I've never been one for lazing around."

"Oh, I _am_ one for lazing," said Lily earnestly. "Not that I ever get to relax or even _think_ about relaxing, mind you, although the music they play in here has me dreaming of a holiday all day long, so there's that."

James pointed to the overhead speaker on the wall behind her. "Who is this?"

"Desmond Dekker," she quickly supplied. "I've Shazamed the whole playlist at this point. Hey." She pointed at his chest. "You don't feel like using some of that extra energy to fan me with a palm leaf while I lie on a beach in Jamaica, do you?"

It took him a fraction of a second to process the image that her question painted in his mind, and James felt his face go up in flames. "Erm—"

"Suppose I could spill a bag of sand on the floor and make do here," she mused, looking out over the coffee shop. "If I shut my eyes and play some ocean sounds from my phone it'll be like—well, it'll be exactly like I'm lying on the floor of a coffee shop, making do."

"I could probably be here with a plastic palm leaf and my mum's sun lamp, if that helps?" he proposed, carefully policing his tone to ensure that the offer landed on the right side of facetious.

She smiled at him. "Can you tell that I've never been abroad?"

"What, never?"

"Never."

"That's—" His mouth pulled to one side. "Now I kind of _do_ want to take you to a beach in Jamaica."

Lily laughed warmly, then propelled herself backwards from the counter with both hands, spinning to grab her own mug from the workstation behind her.

"Oh, you just wait," she warned as she turned back around, her drink clasped in both hands and held close to the centre of her chest, "once I've written my bestseller and don't have to split my time between pushing coffee and waiting tables, there'll be no keeping me from that beach."

"You're a writer?"

"I'm _trying_ to be a writer, results thus far are inconclusive."

"That's—" James blinked at her. His pulse rate wasn't creeping up, rather it had shot up right from the get-go and was maintaining an untenable speed. "No, of course you are. That makes perfect sense."

"Makes sense how?"

"Because you're—y'know, really brilliant with words."

James hoped that he wasn't imagining the slight pink flush to her cheeks, or her pleased expression at his words. He knew, at least, that the way it made him feel was not a figment of his imagination.

"Brilliant," she repeated. "I see."

"Well, it's _true,"_ he insisted. "What kind of stuff do you write?"

"Different articles for different websites, freelance stuff," she explained. "It's all really boring, but I've been working on my book for seven months and that's nearly done, so once it's finished I'll start looking for an agent and we'll see if it's any good."

"I bet it will be."

"I hope so, or I wasted three years and money I don't have on a BA in Creative Writing for no reason whatsoever."

"It's not _wasted_ if you're using what you learned," said James. "I wish I'd gone to uni to study something creative instead of going straight to work out of school."

"Oh, I dunno about you being _un_ creative," she airily replied, a smile playing at her lips. "You _are_ a chef, after all."

"True," he agreed, "but for all you know, I could be a McDonald's fry cook. I could be hugely overstating my abilities. I could be a pathological liar who never set foot in a professional kitchen in his life."

She took a sip from her mug and lowered it to her chest. "Are you?"

"Nah," he admitted. "I work at Hestia Vesta."

"That posh place down the road?" Lily's laugh was short and wry, but not remotely mean. "The one that depletes my bank account whenever I walk past the door?"

"Metaphysically impossible, but go on."

"So you're like, a really _good_ chef?"

"Not to toot my own horn—"

"Oh, I'd never accuse his highness of tooting."

"—but I'm pretty good," he finished. "I'm just a station chef at the moment, but our sous chef is moving to Malta soon and I'm up for the job. And I've got menu responsibilities now, putting dishes together." Bragging felt so grubby, but she'd just shared her ambitions and her work ethic was ten times more impressive than his own. "We're revamping the whole thing for next year and I've been put in charge of mains."

"So you—oh, hi!" said Lily, distracted by the arrival of Mary, who had pushed through the swinging doors that led to the back of the shop, her apron swinging from her neck but not yet tied around her waist.

"Hiya, darlin'," said Mary, stopping next to her. "I'm done if you want to take your break."

"Sure," Lily agreed. She set her mug down and reached behind her back to untie her apron. "I'll just—" She stopped and pointed at James instead. "Did you know that James is a very fancy chef at Hestia Vesta?"

"Is he?" said Mary, turning her all-knowing, piercing blue gaze on James's face.

"He...is?" James tentatively offered.

She let him hang for a moment before a smile—bright as a headlamp and utterly forced, as if someone was holding a gun to her back to coerce her into happiness—slowly unfurled across her face.

"Sure he is," she agreed, in a tone that implied anything but. "That sounds easy to believe."

*****

**@cafe_au_hate** **  
** come aff ma break tae see four eyes git n disney princess makin eyes at each other, winchin away, naw shame, "am jus bein friendly," she says tae me when he leaves, steamin at the vag like a fucken tea kettle

_4:28 PM · Oct 09, 2020 · Twitter for iPhone_

*****

**WhatsApp Group Chat: The Family**

**Resumed on: Sunday 11th October 2020, 10:03 p.m.**

**Members: Sirius Black, Euphemia Potter, Fleamont Potter, James Potter**

**================================**

**Euphemia Potter:** James!!!

 **James Potter:** what?

 **Euphemia Potter:** Excuse me?

 **James Potter:** what?

 **Euphemia Potter:** I wasn't expecting you to reply at this hour.  
Why are you up so late?  
You have work in the morning.

 **James Potter:** i…

 **Sirius Black:** lol

 **Euphemia Potter:** You should be in bed!

 **James Potter:** but  
no  
mum  
you texted me

 **Euphemia Potter:** And to think you've been complaining about sleepless nights and car alarms and milking me for all the sympathy I'm worth.  
When all the while you've been staying up until all hours on your Nintendo.  
Denying yourself sleep.  
Dragging yourself to the restaurant half-dead.  
Almost chopping your fingers off and putting your life in danger.  
Trying to wander into the chiller and lock yourself in.  
  
**James Potter:** that was one time and you had absolutely zero sympathy and also you texted me!!!!!!!  
you sent the text i was sitting here minding my own business and you texted me!!!!!!!  
what was i supposed to do, not reply???!!!!

 **Euphemia Potter:** There's no need to grow hysterical, darling.

**Fleamont Potter:**  


**Sirius Black:** lol

 **James Potter:** how come you never grim reap sirius when he stays up until… 10 pm?????!!!!  
it's not even that late!!!!!!  
there are 9 year olds allowed to stay up this late!

 **Euphemia Potter:** Sirius writes tweets for a living.  
People who write tweets for a living can sleep in late and work from their beds.  
Can you butcher and cook a perfect duck breast from your bed?

 **James Potter:** oh i don't know, mother, perhaps i could sear it on top of my overheated games console  
what with all the hours i spend playing it into the night

 **Euphemia Potter:** You are reacting very dramatically and there's no need for it.  
I only wanted to tell you that I spoke to Lily at Caribbeanz today.

 **James Potter:** WHAT

 **Euphemia Potter:** I stopped by this evening for a green tea.

 **James Potter:** WHY

**Fleamont Potter:**  


**Euphemia Potter:** I was thirsty.

 **James Potter:** for what? gossip?  
for her marketable hair?  
for a pound of her vulnerable human flesh WHAT????

 **Euphemia Potter:** There's no reasoning with you when you're like this.

 **Sirius Black:** Did you get her to agree to shoot the campaign?

 **Euphemia Potter:** Since you took it upon yourself to harass her via the company's Twitter account like a common thug, Sirius, it seemed inadvisable to ask her to model for us.

**Fleamont Potter:**  


**Sirius Black:** lol  
**_@James Potter_** you're welcome, mate

 **James Potter:** fuck

 **Euphemia Potter:** Language!

 **James Potter:** γαμώτο

 **Euphemia Potter:** That's better.

 **James Potter:** BUT WHAT DID YOU TALK TO HER ABOUT

 **Euphemia Potter:** Oh, bits and bobs.  
Nothing that should concern you.

 **James Potter:** WHAT BITS  
WHAT BOBS

**Fleamont Potter:**  


**Euphemia Potter:** Your father is right, you're speaking to me very disrespectfully.  
It doesn't matter what we talked about, what matters is that she's a very impressive young woman and I approve of her for you.

 **James Potter:** ?!?!???!?!?!? mum?!?!?

 **Euphemia Potter:** Now, I know that you have a silly little vendetta against the French.

 **James Potter:** mum

 **Euphemia Potter:** But if you can ask her out and confirm her availability by tomorrow night, I can telephone Michel and get you an excellent table at Le Gavroche for Friday.

 **James Potter:** mother

 **Euphemia Potter:** He owes me a favour anyway, so it will be no trouble.

 **James Potter:** mother

 **Euphemia Potter:** I'd tell you to take her to our place, but you know me, I hate to interfere.  
I'm sure Monica would set aside a cosy spot at Mere, if you'd rather?

 **James Potter:** MOTHER

**Fleamont Potter:**  


**Euphemia Potter:** Their private room will probably be reserved at this short notice, but there's no harm in asking.

 **James Potter:** I AM RUNNING AWAY  
GOODBYE  
GOODBYE FOREVER  
I MEAN IT  
FETCH ME A LARGE STICK AND A RED HANDKERCHIEF I AM OUT THE DOOR I SWEAR

**Fleamont Potter:**  


**Sirius Black:** lololololol

*****

Saturday and Sunday were busy days in the coffee shop, too busy for James to get a chance to talk to Lily, who was back on order-taking duty while Mardy Mary and Miserable Myrtle doled out the drinks. The only upside to this catastrophe was learning that Lily knew his specific order by heart, which sustained him all through the weekend.

Then Sunday night rolled its way into town, and he found that his burgeoning romantic hopes had been shot to all shit by his mum.

News of his mother's treachery was enough to keep James far away from the place as a new week dawned upon him. Euphemia refused to disclose the particulars of her chat with Lily, but her brash determination in the pursuit of a potential daughter-in-law was too familiar for her son to expect anything more than the worst. She'd likely marched in with an envelope of his baby photos, revealed his feelings to everyone present and demanded to know if Lily was interested in incubating all four of her future grandchildren. James was likely to get a portafilter chucked at his head when he next walked in.

If he next walked in.

Of course, he could have caught any stray portafilters that came sailing at his head with ease because he had excellent reflexes, but that wasn't the point. It wouldn't change the fact that she'd flung one to begin with. Hell, if Mary had been around when his mother stopped by to coax Lily into the family, she'd be likely to eschew projectiles altogether and stab James in the neck with the sharpened end of a wooden stirrer.

It was on this sour note that Monday came and went with little consequence. It was a full and arduous day of no joy, no Lily, and no delicious caramel lattes to comfort him in his time of sorrow. James spent his day glaring daggers at his mother from his side of the restaurant's cavernous kitchen, but his resentment only seemed to sustain her.

"She's working today, you know," Euphemia informed him, having strolled in after lunch with a familiar blue and yellow cup tucked snugly beneath her chin.

James carried on wiping down an aluminium worktop that no longer needed to be cleaned.

"Whatever," he said tightly, glaring at his own distorted reflection in the worktop's surface. "That better be a conciliatory latte."

"Get your own latte, you boor," was his mother's atrocious response.

She sashayed off to prepare for the dinner shift, leaving James to plot the demise of Diablo II by sudden bathtub immersion while he busied himself making squid ink crisps.

The prospect of walking back in there and learning what she'd said to Lily was horrifying.

Except he couldn't just _not_ go back.

James loved Caribbeanz. It was his regular, his Cheers, except they didn't yell his name in friendly greeting whenever he walked in and Ted Danson tragically did not work there, but it was the place where he got his lattes and that was practically the same. The other nearby option was Costa, but Costa didn't use the Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee that he especially liked and didn't he, James Potter, _deserve_ Jamaican Blue Mountain for enduring his mother?

Costa didn't have Lily.

Lily seemed like a kind, reasonable person. She wouldn't have held his mother against him, surely?

His resolve to stay away broke lamentably quickly, and he found himself walking to the coffee shop first thing Tuesday morning, telling himself that it was just the Jamaican Blue Mountain that was calling his name. Mary was there, refilling the sugar jars on the tables, and the only customer present was a tired looking mother and her two small children, but Lily was behind the counter and she smiled at James when he walked in.

No projectiles were lobbed at his head.

The police did not bust in to arrest him.

Hope raised its nose tentatively into the air.

"Morning," he said, as he walked over with his hands in his pockets, shooting for a nonchalance he'd never dare feel.

"Morning," said Lily thickly, stifling a yawn. As James neared her, he realised that she'd already produced a cup for the espresso, and was slotting the portafilter in place to fill it. "Are we going to be bold and change up our order today?"

A surge of blissful relief flooded his insides, and he couldn't fight the big, goofy, stupidly happy grin that stretched out the muscles in his cheeks.

"Why change it up when I've found something that works so well?" he replied.

"A little experimentation never hurt anybody."

"It hurt Dr. Frankenstein," he pointed out. "Didn't turn out too well for Dr. Jekyll, either."

Lily slotted a filled milk jug into place beneath the steamer and turned it on, smirking. "You're not really helping your case with these fictional examples, mate."

"It hurt my dad once— _he's_ a scientist," he added, with an eagerness that felt childish, taking a further step towards the counter as the helpful thought suddenly occurred to him. He refrained from mentioning the millions of pounds that his family enjoyed as a result of his father's previous experiments. "So when you think about it—"

"When I think about it, you're saying that your father created a monster and transformed himself into a remorseless little beast?"

"Well, no," James admitted, "but he singed his thumb off a Bunsen burner once."

She laughed at that, unlike Mary, who had moved behind the counter and nudged her way past her, scowling. "Colour me corrected."

"It's alright, I forgive you for it."

"Only 'cause I'm the one making your coffee," she finished, brandishing the caramel syrup like a prize on a gameshow. "I Googled your restaurant the other night, by the way."

James leaned against the counter, balanced on his forearms, his legs trailing behind him, pulse racing. Now was the time for her to mention his mother, if ever she intended to. "You did?"

"Wanted to see just how battered my bank account would be if I ate dinner there."

"And?"

"Pretty reasonable, actually," she admitted, looking thoughtful. "I could have one course and still afford my bills, since I'd _obviously_ get a discount for dropping your name at the door."

"Course you would, I'm not about to let the woman who supplies my fix go hungry."

The sparing glance she tossed him came with a soft smile. "Nice photo of you sprinkling salt on that fish, by the way."

His insides curled into a ball. He hated that picture. "You saw that?"

"I saw it."

"Because that was my mo—my boss's idea," James explained. His idea for the staff page was to replace all of their pictures with images of cats in chef costumes and little tuxedos, which he still intended to do as Euphemia unhooked her claws and left the place in his care. "There's no way that I would have posed like that if she hadn't been holding my career over my head."

"Like a carrot on the stick?"

"Please," he scoffed. "Like a bacon sandwich on a stick."

"So says the chef."

"So a chef can't have simple tastes?"

Lily's emerald eyes were fixed upon the coffee that was draining into the cup, but her lips were tipped up in sly amusement. "I just thought that you'd have a more refined palate than the rest of us simple proles, is all."

"Oh, I'm so deeply sorry," he retorted. "I'll start spreading Beluga caviar on my Ritz crackers right away."

"I said _refined,_ not completely disgusting."

"That's Ritz cracker slander and I won't stand for it."

"Sure, cracker slander, because I couldn't possibly have been talking about nasty fish eggs," she said, then stopped and looked at him properly, her hand poised to reach for something. "I liked the picture, you know."

"Really?"

"Yeah, it reminded me of that salt bae meme, except you weren't wearing a deep V."

"A deep V would be dead unprofessional in a restaurant kitchen."

"You don't think you could pull one off, do you?"

"I could _definitely_ pull one off!" he cried in mock outrage, attracting a weird look from Mary, who was hovering by the pastries looking sullen, and probably assuming that James was talking about masturbation. "I have a swimmer's body, looks good in everything."

"Then you'll have to come in wearing one someday and let me be the judge of that, because I can't even conjure up the image."

"Too much for you to handle?"

"That's it exactly." She'd finished his coffee while they were bantering, and pressed the lid firmly down on his cup before handing it over. "Now get out of here, quick, before some poor soul walks in and faints at the sight of you."

He took it from her gladly, fighting a tremulous, giddy delight, and the look of total adoration that wanted to skip hand-in-hand along the road to delusion with it.

"If it'll help the poor souls," he happily agreed.

*****

**@cafe_au_hate** **  
** Disney princess n four eyes git mentally pumping his sausage in her bun while she froths his milk, calm the fuck doon ye horny bastards theres bairns in the shop

_8:28 AM · Oct 13, 2020 · Twitter for iPhone_

*****

**@CaribbeanzLDN** **  
** Shorter days + colder nights getting you down? Drop by Caribbeanz for a taste of our #WitchesBrewLatte or a #BlackCauldronMocha — perfect with one of our spooky Halloween cupcakes!

_[Picture Attachment]_

_9:58 AM · Oct 15, 2020 · Twitter for iPhone_

*****

"But what do you think it means?" he asked Remus.

Remus gave the outstretched cup a glance that was fleeting at best, and totally uninterested at worst. "Ask Peter."

"I'm asking _you."_

"And I already rendered my verdict."

"Rendered your—alright, Judge Judy," said James, with a derisive snort thrown in. He sat back very carefully, his oversized clay cup clasped between his fingers like an unpinned grenade. "I guess I'll just wait for Peter."

Remus didn't seem to care that his friend was offended, just kept on sipping from his own coffee, which he took black and bitter, and reading an article about Facebook's involvement with Cambridge Analytica that was apparently deeply interesting—in a real newspaper, too, which seemed completely unnecessary in a time of high-speed WiFi and easily digestible news stories that came in the form of tweets. James had brought his mates to Caribbeanz to (ostensibly) spend a lazy Sunday morning tasting the best coffee in London and (really) meet Lily, who was resplendent in a black turtleneck and dangly earrings, and in a very sunny mood.

"I can show you my latte art, finally!" she'd chirped when he asked for an eat-in cup, a sparkling silver pumpkin dangling from each ear. Then she handed him a coffee with a perfect, foamy heart shape floating on top and James quietly lost his mind, demanding that each of his friends weigh-in with their theories on what, if anything, she could have meant by it. Peter immediately bolted, and had been hiding in the toilets for much longer than was required to take a successful piss.

Sirius, meanwhile, was at the counter bothering Mary, whom he had apparently slept with once.

She did not look happy to see him.

"You could just drink it instead," piped up Remus. James looked up from his heart, which was starting to sink into the latte. His real heart broke as it occurred to him that he hadn't taken a photo of it with his phone. "A radical suggestion, I know, but probably what she intended."

"Who knows what she intended?"

"She intended for you to drink it."

"I know that, I mean who knows what she intended with the heart?" James clarified, and threw himself into looking pitiful with gusto. "You don't know her, you don't know what she's—the way she says things, it's like—they're _words,_ but they come out of her head so fast and they mean lots of different things and she—she uses them in a more clever way than most people, yeah? So if she wanted to send a hidden message—"

"You're saying that she's eloquent," Remus cut in. "Yes?"

"Yeah. That."

Remus laughed under his breath, a brief, muted little thing. "Ironic."

"What's ironic?"

"It's ironic that you're struggling to articulate her eloquence, of all things," he explained, smirking.

James shot him a nasty glare. "You teach _kids,_ Remus, not poet laureates."

"All poet laureates were children once."

"Yeah? Well right now they're learning the alphabet and making murals out of dried pasta—"

Remus struggled to contain a burst of mirth that seemed almost wild, for him. "My students are in their teens!"

"Just don't start with me today," James warned, and took a comforting mouthful. It wasn't as hot as he would have liked it, but that was entirely his fault for letting it sit. It was still delicious, though, because Lily had made it for him. "I'm not in the mood."

"I don't even teach English—"

"I said I'm not in the mood."

"You'd be in the mood if _she_ started."

"She'd _never_ start," James retorted, just as Peter emerged from the toilets and sent an enthusiastic wave to their bamboo-panelled window booth, as if he hadn't just left them both sitting there a handful of minutes earlier. "Pete will back me up on this, you'll see."

"Back you up on _what?"_

As to where their conversation was going, James was as confused as Remus, and so he did not respond. He did, however, nod at Peter, who had scurried back to the booth to rejoin them and was sliding into the seat opposite James.

"The handwash in there smells really nice," he told them both, jamming his wet hand directly beneath Remus's nose. Remus scooted away from him immediately, the pages of his broadsheet rustling their disapproval, so Pete started sniffing his own fingers instead. "What d'you think that is? Sandalwood?"

"Who cares? It's handwash," said James. "Did you have any ideas?"

"Ideas about what?"

"About what the heart meant."

"That's…" Peter wiped his hands on his tracksuit bottoms and blinked at James. "That's not what I was thinking about in there."

"So what _were_ you doing?"

His friend gestured weakly in the direction of the toilets, his voice deflating like a week-old balloon. "I was—"

"Ignore him, Pete," said Remus, his eyes not moving from the paper, a single frown line creasing the length of his freckled forehead. "There's only one thing that a foam heart in a latte _can_ mean and James knows it; he's deliberately being obtuse."

"I'm not _being obtuse."_

"Fine, if you don't want it sugar-coated, you're being a fucking moron."

"I'm just saying that there are _variables!"_ James protested, holding the cup aloft, though the once proud heart was disintegrating rapidly. "It might have been a friendly gesture or it might have been nothing, or it might have been a hint that I need to exercise more—nobody can know for sure!"

Remus's eyebrows shot up in alarm, just as Peter's travelled so low that they looked to be in immediate danger of obscuring his vision, his small, pointed nose screwed up as if a fly had just shot up one of his nostrils.

"Because...y'know," James continued, rather lamely, he felt, "the excess of epinephrine, which...y'know, because that's caused by constant coffee drinking and it's not very good for your health, but if you get lots of cardiovascular exercise, it's less—"

"Smells more like patchouli to me, Pete," said Remus, very loudly.

"You think?" Peter sniffed his hand again. "What's the difference?"

"Well, they're both fairly earthy scents—"

"I'm going to the toilet," James announced, and jumped to his feet, scandalised by the many betrayals laid before him like offerings to a lesser god who lived in a studio apartment that sat adjacent to Mount Olympus, rather than on the actual mountain, where all of the best parking spots and restaurants and bouncy castles were likely to be. "Thanks for nothing, _friends."_

Remus merely waved him off, so James headed in the direction of the toilets, only to find his path impeded by Sirius, who held up a large Americano and bared every gleaming white tooth in his smarmy, smiling mouth.

"I asked Boobs over there if Lily fancied you," he said, with a jerk of his head towards Mary who, admittedly, had a rather large chest.

"You asked— _what?"_ James's face burst into flames and his heart stopped dead in his tracks, though sadly his body did not follow. He threw a terrified glance at Mary, but she was busy speaking to another customer. "Wha—what did she say?!"

"She asked me if I fancied a slap."

"Fucking hell, Sirius!" James snarled, as quietly as he could and with a forced, pleasant smile stretched across his face, lest Lily return from her break, catch sight of them both and wonder what was happening. "I am _never_ bringing _any_ of you lot to this place again, you hear me? Not even if my bloody life depends on it!"

"Yeah," Sirius agreed, grinning like a prick with no real problems, "that sounds like a fairly good shout."

*****

**@cafe_au_hate** **  
** Four eyes jus brought his mates in fer coffee and tae show off disney p. Bargain basement timothee chalamet, elbow patch professor laddie n wee hanger oan wi' blonde sideburns, fucken boyband nobody wanted aye

_10:29 AM · Oct 18, 2020 · Twitter for iPhone_

**@cafe_au_hate** **  
** Jus remembered shaggin discount timothee chalamet few months back, was ok but he's tae intae his own nipples, 5/10 wilnae be returning

_11:03 AM · Oct 18, 2020 · Twitter for iPhone_

**@cafe_au_hate** **  
** bastard asked fer 20% off his americano fer "services rendered!" am no running a charity pal!

_11:12 AM · Oct 18, 2020 · Twitter for iPhone_

*****

**Private WhatsApp Chat**

**Resumed on: Friday 23rd October 2020, 11:05 p.m.**

**Members: Euphemia Potter, James Potter**

**================================**

**Euphemia Potter:** Oh hello darling.

 **James Potter:** what do you want?

 **Euphemia Potter:** Oh, I see. **  
** Explain something to me, would you? If it's not too much trouble?  
To me, mind you, the woman who gave you life, who carried you around inside her for the better part of a year, allowed you to sleep in for a week past your due date, toiled for thirty-six hours of labour and burst several blood vessels trying to birth you on account of your ill-timed decision to come out with your arm behind your overlarge head.  
Please also bear in mind that we were very busy today, yet I gave you the whole day off work.  
Why do you feel that your rudeness is warranted?

 **James Potter:** ffs  
are you going to hold my birth against me forever?

 **Euphemia Potter:** As I will never get to enjoy the sweet vengeance of watching you suffer through the agonies of labour yourself, yes I am.

 **James Potter:** well i'm sorry for not having a vagina, okay? blame your egg and dad's sperms

 **Euphemia Potter:** You don't need to use the plural, it takes one sperm to fertilise an egg.

 **James Potter:** ffs mum!!

 **Euphemia Potter:** Why are you being rude, James?  
Have I interrupted your precious Atari time?

 **James Potter:** okay now i KNOW that you know i have a ps4  
you're just fucking with me for a laugh

 **Euphemia Potter:** Hahaha.

 **James Potter:** i'm being rude because i can just tell i'm not going to like what comes next

 **Euphemia Potter:** Oh, don't be so dramatic. I was only going to say that I spoke to Lily again today.

 **James Potter:** SEE?

 **Euphemia Potter:** I mentioned that you were my son.

 **James Potter:** WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT  
WHY  
FOR WHAT REASON  
my god mum why would you EVER think that was a good idea????

 **Euphemia Potter:** Oh, stop, it came up organically.

 **James Potter:** NO IT DID NOT YOU LIAR  
did i wrong you in a dream again? it's not MY fault when that happens!

 **Euphemia Potter:** She's going to learn eventually!

 **James Potter:** no she isn't!

 **Euphemia Potter:** When you finally ask her out and start dating!

 **James Potter:** we're never GOING to start dating

 **Euphemia Potter:** Why not?! She said that she knew you when I brought you up, and she said that you were very nice!

 **James Potter:** so?

 **Euphemia Potter:** It was practically an admission of lust.  
She tried to hide it, but I could tell by the look on her face.

 **James Potter:** ON WHAT PLANET IS THAT AN ADMISSION OF LUST??

 **Euphemia Potter:** On this planet, James.  
YOU currently inhabit Uranus.

*****

James badly wanted to know how badly his mother had ruined his chances, but Lily didn't bring it up the next day, nor did she mention it on Sunday, Monday and Tuesday, so he didn't either. By Wednesday, his sense of security had grown enough to let him breathe easier, which was fortunate, because Wednesday also happened to be his first day as the restaurant's new sous chef.

Not that he was going to tell Lily as much.

That would be grubby and obvious, a blatant ploy for attention.

After spending his morning plotting ways to subtly let Lily know that he'd been promoted while he stared into space at the breakfast bar and consistently missed his mouth with spoonfuls of childishly chocolatey cereal, James went to work in a chipper mood. His happiness dissipated when he did not receive the enormous fuss, or minor surprise party, that he felt he deserved, especially considering his mum was the boss and _claimed_ to love him.

"Stop sulking," she ordered, bopping him on the arm with a roll of paper towels while he was rinsing spinach, "I've arranged for you to get a present later."

"I don't _want_ a framed photo of your Roomba, actually," he retorted, silently praising himself for his genius.

Euphemia rolled her eyes in a manner that was eerily reminiscent of Lucille Bluth and stalked off, muttering something sinister under her breath.

Later, and because Lily only worked from 3 p.m. on Wednesdays, James headed to Caribbeanz for his evening pick-me-up.

He found her stationed to take orders while Kingsley worked the espresso machine, and they had their usual exchange—he asked about the article she'd been working on, she teased him for refusing to deviate from caramel lattes, he accused her of an anti-caramel bias—and James was just about to tap his debit card against the reader when Lily's hand shot out to cover it and quickly yank it away.

"Nope!" she said smartly. "Can't let you pay today, sorry."

James looked up from the blank pine surface where once the card reader had lived, frowning. "What?"

She looked very smug about something, swaying faintly from side to side. "I said what I said."

"Why not?"

"Because."

 _"Because_ what?"

"Becaaauuuuse……" She stopped swaying. "Congrats on the promotion?"

Twelve shots of espresso could not have conjured up the adrenaline hit that his body took in that moment. He stared dumbly at her. His mouth could not form a word.

"Are you surprised? I bet you're surprised. Surprise!" she softly cried, throwing her hands up in half-hearted, mock exaltation. She quickly dropped them to her sides, her voice returning to its normal pitch. "I knew that it was today."

"Er," he said.

"Close that gob, you look like a bloody goldfish."

James shut his mouth, then opened it again. "How did you—"

"Oh, _you_ know," she delicately sighed.

"I don't know."

"I have my ways."

"What, you've—did I just tell you about it and forget?"

"Well, that's the thing." She put the card reader down and leaned across the counter, balanced on her elbows, beckoning him closer with a single, crooked finger. There was a coy tilt to her lips. "C'mere."

He blinked at her.

Nah. _Nah._

James couldn't handle this—not _that_ word, not when she said it like—not when she was looking at him like he was a snack that she rather fancied eating.

How had this happened?

He'd been paying for a coffee not thirty seconds ago.

"C'mere why?" he said, voice cracking.

"C'mere and I'll tell you a secret."

It was lamentable, truly pathetic, the way he complied so quickly, pulled towards her like prey on an invisible line, matching her stance, powerless to keep from obeying, but then but then but then—then they were practically face-to-face and the crackling, staticy sound that came from the overhead speakers was _them,_ surely, some otherworldly frisson of electricity sparked up by the air between their noses? The weather had been sunny that week; brand new freckles had blossomed across her cheeks and it startled him to realise that he'd noticed, that such innocuous details—freckles, of all things, which hadn't been made to be studied with such care, but to spread with quiet conviction, hidden in plain sight—were incredible new discoveries to him.

He licked his lips without forethought. It was unconsciously done, instinctive.

"Obviously," she whispered. "I know because I'm _stalking you."_

The shudder she sent tingling down his spine must have been visible; never mind walking over his grave, his had just been steamrolled.

"Already knew that," he said, gone far beyond cracking, basically hoarse.

"Did you now?"

"Saw you rooting through my rubbish."

"And here I thought my raccoon disguise was rock solid."

"I've never seen a raccoon with a long ginger braid."

"Pfft!" Lily straightened up, brandishing the end of said braid like the strap of a rucksack, shattering their energy like sugar glass, and laughed. "Your mother came in and told me."

The words registered—mother, told her, made sense, somehow, typical—but very dimly, and right in the back of his brain. All James could truly focus on was that he hadn't moved and Lily had, and what did that mean and why the hell had he mentioned digging through rubbish? What woman on earth could have gotten off talking about rubbish, about raccoons?

Racoons!

They'd entered a realm unknown and beautiful, he'd booted them out by their arses, and for that he deserved a lifetime of rampant self-loathing.

"Huh?" he said.

"You work for her, right? She came in a few days ago, mentioned that her son was getting promoted and came in here all the time and asked if she could pay for his coffee in advance as a surprise," Lily explained, gesturing towards the door. "Then she whipped out your photo and I was like, 'hey, I know that guy,' and she was like, 'isn't he handsome and also, do this favour for me?' and I was like, 'sure,' so here we are now."

James was slumped, corpselike, across the counter, gazing up at her like a forlorn desert traveller who'd just spied a single coconut up a tree. "My—my mum paid for my coffee?"

"Your mum tried to pay for your coffee, but I refused to accept it."

"What—"

"I'm entitled to three free drinks a day and I'm letting you have one," Lily explained. She'd produced a tea towel from somewhere and waved it at Kingsley, who was standing at the other end of the counter, muscles bulging everywhere, making the espresso machine look comically small in comparison to his massive frame. Mary hovered near him, watching James with narrowed, critical eyes. "Can I get a caramel latte with three extra shots of espresso, and a cinnamon roll? I'll pay for the cinnamon roll," she added, just for James, smiling down at him like a copper crowned angel. "Since you're a fancy sous chef, and all."

"You don't—you don't have to do that," he said, scrambling to his feet. "I can pay, and you don't—I didn't even order a cinnamon roll."

"But you love cinnamon rolls."

It shouldn't have made him so fluttery to learn that she knew that. She'd sold him a dozen or so in the weeks since they'd met. "I do, I know, but you don't have to buy one for me, just because—"

"Just take the cinnamon roll, James," she said flatly. "Or don't, and break my heart—the choice is yours."

"Your—I'll take the cinnamon roll," he meekly agreed.

"Damn right you will," she said, and waved him away, leaving James to stagger over to Kingsley with his heart in his mouth and his brain buried in a pile of rubble. "And make sure you tell Euphemia that I said hi."

*****

**@cafe_au_hate** **  
** cud shift a haystack from one barn tae another wae one pair ae tweezers before four eyes & disney p git tae shagging, ma god jus git fucken goin already, am growin a beard waitin

_7:17 PM · Oct 29, 2020 · Twitter for iPhone_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder that Mary's tweets are all explained [here](https://ghostofbambifanfiction.tumblr.com/marytweets) on my Tumblr.


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